


Doctor Tom and Mr. Voldemort

by Chocolatechipcookie22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Psychology, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatechipcookie22/pseuds/Chocolatechipcookie22
Summary: Tom, now interested in psychology, gets the pleasure to meet people from the Order of the Pheonix. What do they want? To put an end to his future tyranny by...providing him with necessary nurture?
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle
Kudos: 4





	Doctor Tom and Mr. Voldemort

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to add psychology facts in this fanfiction because I've become an obsessed psychology student a couple of months ago. Enjoy :)

Since he had heard that the famed Sigmund Freud was a wizard, he could not help but look into all the manuscripts he could get his greedy little hands on and just devour the content.

He sat like a hunchback over a piece of fresh parchment that smelled like cedar, overwhelming his senses.

The white as snow candles illuminated his handsome face, blue eyes scanning the pages fervently, cherry-red lips curled in a small smile.

This was another individual project of his. Firstly he had been attracted by philosophy, afterwards he had a brief dalliance with languages and now he's just sitting over the edge of his seat, becoming fonder and fonder of psychology.

Truthfully, at first, it has not been because of an intellectual purpose, rather he mocked this mixture of art and science, and just read a couple of pages of an old dusty book in the forbidden section in order to satisfy his curiosity.

When he found out about Freud's wizard ancestry, dating back hundreds of years, his interest was peeked. What more, there was this undeniable need to know the human mind, and how he could manipulate other beings by simply knowing their inner workings and playing on their emotions.

At least that's what he told himself, not bringing to surface his insecurities, like the fact that everyone found him rather odd. Brilliant, handsome, trustworthy, humorous yet at the same time, rather odd. He didn't think like the other brats, he didn't act like them. He was not mewling for affection, knowing it would only bring pain from his experience of waiting in a cold orphanage for his father to miraculously save him.

He couldn't help but ask himself if it was good to feel as he felt. Was he normal? Was he a sociopath? He knew that killing Billy's rabbit was wrong, yet he did it anyway. Billy had often told him no one would adopt a monster like him, and one day he just lashed out. After the deed was done he did not feel bad about Billy, his tears not eliciting any reaction in Tom yet, he felt bad for the bunny. It did not deserve to be killed. Although with an owner like Billy Stubbs, it might have been wishing for death.

The trinkets he had stolen from the other children, the ones Dumbledore saw fit to set fire on, were trophies won against his aggressors. They taunted him about Mrs. Cole not buying him anything, because of his freakishness. They didn't feel so smug when Tom had smuggled their toys inside his room, and made them hurt when they tried to injure him.

Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.

Freud had written once "two traits are essential in a criminal: boundless egoism and a strong destructive urge. Common to both of these, and a necessary condition for their expression, is absence of love, lack of an emotional appreciation of (human) objects."

These words deserve pondering. He was not a criminal, his little thefts notwithstanding, and even if you were to count them, he was never caught. And so he may have contributed to the dark figure of crime, in the past, but he was a child back then, a minor, and clearly not legally capable of being sanctioned for his misdeeds.

As far as egotism and destructive urges go, Tom had had moments where he could truthfully say he wanted to burn the orphanage to the ground. And yet he was not defined by these traits. They were just a part of his personality.

But the last characteristic, an inability to love other human beings was what fascinated and mortified Tom at the same time. Wasn't it better to fly solo and never get attached to other people? After all, you might get stabbed in the back and all your plans could get ruined. Back-stabbing is a bit of a tradition in Slytherin too. And yet, he still wished sometimes to have a confidant, someone he could trust.

And speaking of trust, Dumbledore has been noisier than ever, regarding him with suspicion and not an ounce of sympathy. But that lack of sympathy was as per usual. Tom could not get through a single day at Hogwarts and not get his quota of noisy professors.

The teen was walking towards his dorm, manuscripts clutched firmly in his hands. He was just about to say the password when his favorite professor, Horace Slughorn interrupted him.

"Tom, professor Dumbledore has been searching for you."

"What for, sir?" Tom asked, plastering a fake smile on his face.

"I do not know yet, my boy. Best to hurry, he seemed adamant to talk to you."

And so, Tom went to the designated place while thinking 'Ah, the absolute thrill of wasting time instead of catching a few hours of much-needed sleep.'

Knocking on the door would be the polite thing to do, yet he was feeling incensed and so he simply opened the door quite hurriedly.

There was his professor with a large frown on his face. Near him were what Tom could only describe as unwanted visitors. Too many unwanted visitors. He did not recognize any of them. There was a boy with glasses and an oddly shaped scar, a girl who was watching him with a mixture of wonderment and bitterness, another red-headed boy who was clearly hoping to burn him with his eyes only as if he had x-ray vision. There was also an old man who resembled his professor and whose magic he just felt was powerful, a stern-looking woman and an onyx eyed, calculating man dressed all in black.

The green eyed-boy with glasses wore what must have been an emotionless mask. It would have worked if he was not trying so hard to seem uninterested. Tom couldn't help but wonder what he must be like unconsciously. The unconscious, the place of hidden tendencies, of emotional conflicts generated by the intimate resorts of personality. A place formed with pulsions that act as live beings. The center of the sexual instincts that want to consume, to reach pleasure but only if the conscious allows it.

It was strange yet because of his nighttime activities, he kept wondering about the mind of this strange boy whom he felt nothing for. If he had repressed sexual impulses that want to satisfy themselves against conscience's orders. If because of that he had lapses, morbid dreams, or neuroses.

If so, was he pretending to be uninterested as a shield for his inner emotions? What could his dreams, no, his nightmares be about?


End file.
